Figments
by Celli
Summary: sleep wake hope: Sydney would rather be a figment of her own imagination. Spoilers for "The Two."


Category: Angst, baby!  
Rating: PG  
Spoilers: The Two  
Summary: sleep wake hope: Sydney would rather be a figment   
of her own imagination.  
Disclaimer: Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC, and various   
other people with lawyers. Le sigh.  
  
Thanks to Lyra, Shelley, and Jayne for various betaing and   
handholding help. 'Specially Lyra, for not killing me.  
  
***  
  
Figment  
by Celli Lane  
  
***  
  
someones married their everyones  
laughed their cryings and did their dance  
(sleep wake hope and then) they  
said their nevers they slept their dream  
--e.e. cummings, "anyone lived in a pretty how town"  
  
***  
  
Two years later. She refuses to believe it.  
  
They couldn't fake everything, could they?  
  
One person, maybe. Or two. But somewhere between Carrie's   
pregnancy and her father's beard, Sydney begins to doubt   
it.  
  
Hypnosis maybe. Some of the more experimental drugs out   
there...she could be strapped to a bed somewhere, talking   
to figments while Sloane's men suck all the CIA knowledge   
out of her brain. She worries over that one for a while.  
  
Okay, a long while.  
  
Okay, it's all she thinks about.  
  
There's no way to find out. They don't have to know all the   
details of her life--her own brain will conveniently   
provide them, filling in all the blanks for whatever they   
suggest. Sight, smell, feel--it could only be real to   
*her*, she thinks, as the sedan explodes in front of her.   
The blast of heat that washes over her could be coming from   
nowhere but her own fevered imagination.  
  
She imagines Francie's double standing over her and   
laughing at her imaginary mission, and thinks briefly that   
if this guy stabs her...if she lets him kill her...well, at   
least maybe she'll know.  
  
If nothing else, maybe she could start over with a better   
hallucination.  
  
But her body carries on the battle without her, and she   
goes on.  
  
She doesn't want to go on. What's there to go on to?  
  
***  
  
"That was kind of harsh," Weiss says.  
  
Sydney shrugs and goes back to the report Marshall prepared   
on everything that happened while she was...away. It's   
light on current events and heavy on the latest Buffy   
spinoff, but having something tangible comforts her. She   
couldn't make up all of this on her own, could she?  
  
"I don't necessarily blame you." This is the Weiss she   
remembers. Or the Weiss she's remembering. When he has   
something to say, he says it. "It's not your job to bless   
his marriage. Let the man feel guilt, it's probably good   
for him."  
  
"Thanks for your support." She turns a page and notices the   
sports rundown. Will the sight of hockey scores ever be   
painless? Probably not. She keeps turning.  
  
"Syd."  
  
She looks up.  
  
"If you want to make Vaughn your verbal punching bag,   
that's fine. But when you're done, remember that the rest   
of us buried you too." His eyes are troubled, but they   
never leave hers. "We all lost faith."  
  
No, you didn't. No, you couldn't. She fights the words   
away, knowing that arguing with him about reality and faith   
will only harm her position, whatever that happens to be.   
"I--I have a meeting with Marshall. Something about a tech   
update--"  
  
"Go ahead." His hand is warm on her upper arm. Could she be   
making him up? Would she? "If you need anything, Syd--"  
  
She needs two years' worth of...something. "Thanks, Weiss."  
  
***  
  
What she needs, she decides some time after seeing herself   
on grainy tape slitting a man's throat, is proof.  
  
If it's real, fine, she'll slog through it and find out   
what happened and then...well, whatever happens next.   
She'll probably go to jail, which doesn't sound as awful as   
it might.  
  
If it's not real, then she has a reason to get free. Get   
back to her life.  
  
So how to prove it?  
  
During a sleepless night in the safe house (if she sleeps,   
when will she wake up?), she decides that she needs to do   
something completely unexpected. Something hypnosis and her   
own memories can't compensate for.  
  
Killing someone is out, although according to that tape,   
it's not new and unusual. But if she's wrong and this is   
reality...okay, no.  
  
She could go somewhere she's never been, but...too time-  
consuming.  
  
Quit the CIA and--no. She's tried that.  
  
She could seduce Marshall. The thought sends her into a   
spasm of giggles, until she has to stick her head under her   
pillow to avoid being heard by the guards. That would be   
unusual, definitely. Unpredictable. But poor Carrie. Even   
in a hallucination, she can't wreck Marshall's life.  
  
As she lies there, still giggling intermittently, it hits   
her.  
  
"Perfect," she tells the ceiling.  
  
***  
  
"Weiss. Weiss."  
  
He snores. Sydney tries not to giggle. "Weiss," she   
whispers again, shaking him.  
  
He sits bolt upright, nearly knocking her off the bed.   
"Whatthehell?" He shakes his head once, hard, and squints   
at her. "Syd? What are you doing here?"  
  
That's a good question. "You said if I needed anything..."   
She trails off.  
  
"I did, didn't I?" He scratches the scar on his throat.   
"Well, I didn't quite expect you to break into my house to   
get it, but okay. How can I help you?"  
  
She launches herself at him, and realizes only when she   
hears his muffled grunt that she's thrown them both back   
into the headboard. His mouth is firm, and a bit rough from   
the stubble around it, and he's not kissing her back,   
dammit. She fumbles for one of his hands and puts it firmly   
on her breast.  
  
He shoves her away. She grabs at him for balance, but he's   
still pushing, and she lands on the floor. "Ow!"  
  
"I'm sorry. Wait. Sydney, what the hell's the matter with   
you?"  
  
"Nothing," she says, hearing the sullen tone in her own   
voice.  
  
"Nothing. Right. You've always molested random CIA agents,   
I just didn't know about it."  
  
She's not going to cry. She's not going to cry. She's not--  
  
"Please don't cry, Syd."  
  
"I'm not crying!" She sniffs. "My butt hurts."  
  
"I'm sorry. Look, come here." He hauls her up into his lap-  
-with no apparent effort on his part; she'd be impressed,   
if she weren't too busy dripping tears on his T-shirt.   
"Just don't do that again, okay? It was like a reverse wet   
dream. No offense."  
  
"None taken." His arms are hard around her, and the   
blankets are tangled under her legs, pressing into the back   
of her thighs. "Maybe it is a dream. All of it. Maybe we're   
both just figments of my imagination."  
  
"Um. Okay."  
  
"You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"  
  
"None. But that's okay. When's the last time you slept?"  
  
"Off and on. I'm afraid--" The sob at the back of her   
throat wants to be a scream. "What if I wake up again and--  
"  
  
He says something against her hair, but she can't hear him   
over the noises she's making.   
  
***  
  
She wakes up slowly, fuzzily, trying to figure out why her   
eyes hurt and her throat itches and she's still wearing her   
clothes. Did something happen? A mission? Had Vaughn--  
  
It all hits her at once, and she freezes. Oh, God.  
  
"Syd?" Weiss says sleepily. She rolls over. He's on his   
side next to her, looking even less alert than last night.   
"You awake?"  
  
"I think so. How long was I out?"  
  
"Ten hours, I think."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
He cranes his head to check the clock. "Yeah. It's about   
two in the afternoon. Good thing you fell apart on a   
Friday. I wouldn't want to have to call both of us in   
sick."  
  
"I guess." She scoots closer. "Thanks, Weiss."  
  
"Sure." He makes a startled sound when her arms creep   
around his waist, but when she doesn't try anything else,   
he relaxes and hugs her back. "Anytime. I think."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Sydney, are you sure you're awake?"  
  
She sighs, just once, and feels his chest drop as he   
breathes out too. "I'm sure."  
  
--the end-- 


End file.
